


The Fires of Mortality

by Wyndle (mollymauks)



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, F/M, IT'S SMUT TIME., Life-Affirming Sex, actually no. JASNAH deserved this so i gave it to her, asexual character written by asexual author, it's about the 'oh shit you/I nearly died that's very concerning please hold me', it's about the Intimacy, it's very Tender tbh. grossly so. they deserved this so i gave it to them, much more established than canon, not quite to the point of admitting that they love each other but CLOSE, y'all must have known it was only a matter of time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28800510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollymauks/pseuds/Wyndle
Summary: !RHYTHM OF WAR SPOILERS!Set post Rhythm of War, at a vague but emotionally appropriate time for this to happen. They're too new to one another for it to be set mid-RoW, I feel, but I wanted it so I wrote it. Time is irrelevant to me. They're at war, that's all I need to make this happen.Jasnah is ambushed and nearly killed in spite of her everything. She gets a fright. Wit gets a fright. They have gentle, life-affirming sex to Cope. that's it. that's the fic. NSFW."Wit drew back again, breathing a little more evenly. He forced a smile onto his face, and for a moment she thought he might force out some quip to try and add some levity to their shared fear.But it seemed he couldn’t bring himself to do it, and in the end he just whispered, as soft and sincere as she’d ever heard from him, “Can I kiss you?”She nodded, and he did. Slow, and deep, with a passion she might have been surprised at, before she had seen the depth of his care for her."
Relationships: Hoid (Cosmere)/Jasnah Kholin, Jasnah Kholin/Wit (Stormlight Archive)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	The Fires of Mortality

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't picked up on it yet from the summary, tags, and E rating, let me just make it ABUNDANTLY clear that there'd be fucking ahead. Relatively explicit fucking. And also Genuine Emotions. which may also distress some people i don't know ur business.

“Jasnah!” 

For once, Wit displayed something other than his typical nonchalant, cavalier flippancy as he saw her. 

He did not stand and wait as she stumbled towards him, but met her with a hurried step, and pulled her into his arms the moment she was within reach. 

She did not protest. 

She needed this. She needed the flood of warmth, the firm pressure of his embrace, the feeling of his heart pounding beneath the palm she pressed against his chest. 

Feeling safe, at last, she dismissed her plate. It was a gesture, no more, as it didn’t actually allow her to feel his touch any more firmly. But she did not want anything separating her from him, from this moment, even in her mind. 

Jasnah closed her eyes, allowing Wit to cradle her to him, one hand on the back of her head, fingers digging deeply into her thick hair, as if he feared she would vanish if he did not have a firm enough anchor on her. 

She pressed her face against his shoulder, eyes closed, breathing him in, arms curled beneath his shoulders, pulling him tight, the stormlight raging in her veins making her cling to him so tightly she feared she’d leave bruises.

In the moment, she didn’t care. Wit didn’t seem to either, as he made no word of protest, and just held onto her, like a man strung up in a highstorm clutching to his last tether to the world. 

They stood for a long time, both breathing harder than the situation necessarily warranted. Jasnah kept her eyes closed, letting him hold her. The warmth of him in contrast to the cold fear that still pulsed within her was of more comfort than she could ever express. The hand rubbing up and down her back, gradually returning feeling to her. The press of his body against hers anchoring her and reminding her that she was alive. 

She had not felt quite so mortal in some time. Being Radiant for so many years, having Stormlight to draw on to heal her wounds, it had made her complacent. Even with the constant threat of assassination looming over her, it had always been a case of preparing herself for how to survive and what to do afterwards, never truly dying. 

Somehow she had forgotten. Forgotten how delicate this thing called life was. And how precious. 

Today’s events had returned that to her with all the subtlety of a boulder tossed by a storm wall. 

At last, Wit drew back, cradling her face between his hands, staring into her eyes with an intensity that made her tremble, as if he could have willed life to return to her had it been taken with that will alone. 

“I’m alright,” she said, though the words were thick, difficult to get out past the fear still billowing in her chest. 

His thumb stroked gently at her cheek, his gaze still boring into her. There was fear there. True fear. Something she had never seen from him before.

Oddly, that was good to see, in this moment. It made her feel wanted, needed. For more than her title as Queen or her powers as a Radiant. Wit didn’t give a damn about any of that, not truly. This fear was for _her_ , the woman she was, and the bond they had cultivated. 

He nodded vaguely at her words, though she was not sure he had truly heard her. 

He did not, mercifully, ask what had happened. He would know the outline. An ambush by the Fused. Stormlight stolen from her. Panic and confusion. Then terror. Now this. The details would wait until she needed to share them.

“You’re alright,” he murmured, pulling her close again, hands rubbing up and down her back, as if his hands had to roam over every fibre of her, finding her intact, before he would truly believe it, “You’re alright.” 

Wit drew back again, breathing a little more evenly. He forced a smile onto his face, and for a moment she thought he might force out some quip to try and add some levity to their shared fear. 

But it seemed he couldn’t bring himself to do it, and in the end he just whispered, as soft and sincere as she’d ever heard from him, “Can I kiss you?” 

She nodded, and he did. Slow, and deep, with a passion she might have been surprised at, before she had seen the depth of his care for her. It built in a crescendo, until one hand was at her lower back, tilting her towards him, the other wound into her thick hair, freed from its neat braids by his deft fingers. 

When he drew back, they both found themselves breathless, hands still on one another, clinging, seeking. Like magnets, drawn together with a reluctance to part, one that had only come through force of will. 

Jasnah met his piercing blue eyes and found something deeper than hunger within them. It was beyond hunger, beyond lust. It was _need_. 

Jasnah found herself nodding, pulling him in close by the lapels of his jacket and kissing him again, still nodding, feeling suddenly urgent. Not for the mechanics of it, but the closeness, the intimacy, the intensity of it, the _reassurance_. 

She knew that he felt the same way, in this moment. And that drew her to him, like the passionspren that started to cascade around their entwined bodies.

This was not about sex. It was not about bestial lust or a selfish lust for pleasure. It was about them. It was about being as close to him as she could be in this moment. And he to her. Still beating hearts separated only by heat, and sweat, and skin. That intimacy, the _need_ for her she saw in his eyes and felt in the way he held her. This embrace was not enough.

“Jasnah,” Wit began, a little hoarsely, “This is not a moment I want you to feel you must indulge me. I-”

“Wit,” she interrupted, “Now is _not_ the time for you to start going soft on me,” she told him, firmly.

She watched him register the wordplay in that, and saw him smile, truly, for the first time since she’d returned. 

She kissed him again and whispered, quiet but intent, “Do you want me?” 

“Yes,” he breathed, without hesitation, need thickening the word. 

The emotion behind it made her tremble. 

She deliberately peeled the glove from her safehand then slowly twined her fingers with his. He looked down at their joined hands for a moment, then met her eyes once more. 

He nodded, tongue tracing along his bottom lip, that need boiling within him like a brewing storm, twin to her own. She drew his hand to her and then, gently but firmly, guided him to their bedchamber. 

She wasn’t quite sure when it had become _their_ bedchamber. There was another room in the house they shared, for propriety’s sake. A lie. The illusion of propriety, and nothing more, for he had shared her bed each night they had been here. 

Wit did not protest any further, and allowed her to lead him. He was cautious with her, since she had told him the truth of her sexual desires. She appreciated that, appreciated that her comfort would always come before his lust. She appreciated, too, that he knew when to shelve that caution and give in to what she was asking of him. 

No, she did not want sex, not the way he wanted it, not the way others wanted it. But she could want what it brought her. The pleasure, the rush of adrenaline, like a vat of Stormlight pulled into her veins. 

With him more specifically, she hungered for the intimacy. The closeness. The heat of his skin against hers, the comfort of being held, the intensity of being wanted, of being _needed_ so fiercely by this man she had let in and opened herself up to. 

He threaded his fingers through her hair as she pressed him against the nearest wall and kissed him. No tongues. She had never been fond of that, which he knew. But she knew, equally, that he liked this part, the build-up, the preparation, the heat and anticipation building, and building between them like the inevitable swell of an ocean wave. 

She tilted her head to the side to grant him better access as he nuzzled softly at a certain spot on her neck that she liked. He sucked, gently at first, then more firmly, until she was clinging to his shoulders, heat pooling in a rush of blood to her abdomen.

Closing her eyes, she exhaled shakily, already feeling the tension starting to bleed from her, as if he was drawing it into himself, leaving her relaxed and free. 

He knew how to work her body to coax pleasure from it, almost as keenly as she could herself. He had learned from her, early on, taking direction, and even watching her as she touched herself, so that he could please her. And he had learned well. 

“Wit,” she murmured, removing her fingers from where they had been buried deeply in his black hair, freeing them to start pulling at the ties of the shirt she’d had on underneath her armour. “I’m not in the mood for slow and sensual right now.”

He groaned, and started helping her remove her shirt. She pulled at his in turn. She knew that he would want to put his mouth and fingers on her, to ensure she was ready for him, but she wanted to feel the heat of his skin against hers. 

She couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped her throat as she pulled him against her, the tight black clothing he’d had on dropped to the ground at their feet along with her shirt. She let him hold her for a moment, rocking against him, listening to the sound of his shallow, fast breathing in her ear.

Then she took his hand and drew him to the bed, pulling him down on top of her, over her. Usually she did not like that in bed. She wanted to be the one in control, the one driving the encounter. She realised now that, with him, in this moment, she didn’t mind. 

He didn’t loom over her making her feel small or dominated. His body enveloped hers. There was a warmth to this. A connection. She felt... _Safe_ with him. That was more enticing than any physical advance any partner had ever made towards her in the past.

“ _Wit_ ,” she groaned, the word laced with a command he understood instantly. 

He nodded, and moved to settle between her thighs, but she shook her head, stopping him, “Just your fingers tonight,” she murmured. 

Wit cocked his head to one side looking a little bemused and, amusingly, slightly disappointed, “Jasnah, you know what wonders my tongue can perform. You would deny yourself that pleasure?” 

She snorted at him, whacking him lightly on the arm, then she pulled him in and kissed him. “I want you here,” she said, rolling onto her side and pulling him close, their bodies flush against each other, “Like this,” she added, suddenly feeling oddly foolish. 

Him moving a few feet wasn’t that important, was it? Yet his expression softened at once and he nodded, understanding. That reassured her, made her feel seen, and known, in a way that brought comfort when previously it had only inspired fear. 

He cupped her face in his hand and kissed her tenderly, drawing it out even in this moment of heat and need. As he did so, his fingers tugged gently at the waistband of her leggings and he raised an enquiring eyebrow. 

“May I?” he asked, as he did each time before he put his hands on her. 

She nodded, and he slid his fingers between her legs, deftly coaxing pleasure from her with each movement. She let a soft whine rise in her throat and pulled him in, burying her face against his shoulder, arms around him, just wanting to feel him close to her, as close as they could be.

He held her through it, drawing her face gently from where she’d pressed it against his neck so that he could kiss her. She had never felt so taken care of, so _wanted_ before. This was not about sex. It had rarely ever just been about sex with them. Which was perhaps why it worked so well for her. 

When she felt she was wet enough from his attentions, she tugged at his hair, drawing him away from her, breathing a little more heavily than usual. 

“Enough,” she said, quiet but firm, “I want you now,” she commanded softly, fingers tugging gently on his hair. 

He arched an eyebrow, eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness enveloping them like warm blankets as the candles he’d been using for illumination burned low.

“You don’t want to come for me once like this first?” he breathed, nuzzling against her neck, watching her with hunger, biting his lip. “I can make it quick for you.” 

His suggestion had merit, but she was not bothered about pleasure tonight. She just wanted him. As close as she could have him, as soon as she could have him. This was not enough. 

“I want you to do as you’re told,” she murmured, hooking a finger under his chin and tilting his head up until he met her eyes. 

He trembled, mouth half-open, gazing at her with something close to reverence. 

They had discussed this kind of behaviour between them beforehand, of course. It was not something she had ever tried before with previous partners. She had found that she liked it. It added an interesting new element to the proceedings, and it gave her a sense of power and control in this situation that she valued deeply. 

Jasnah tugged gently on his hair again, and he shifted to give her what she wanted. She helped him remove the last of his clothing, as he helped remove hers, and once they were both stripped down to their skin, nothing between them any longer but heat and air, which felt like too much, she pressed him back against the headboard.

With gentle nudges, she urged him into a sitting position, braced against the wall behind him. His expression softened as he realised her intent, and he took her hand to steady her as she pressed in beside him.

He cupped her face and kissed her tenderly, “You are extraordinary, you know,” he murmured, so sincere with her where he was so often casual and flippant. 

Jasnah moved in and straddled his lap, pressing herself as close as she could. Skin to skin. Groaning softly in pleasure at the closeness, the warmth, the _comfort_ of having someone she could be so vulnerable with. 

She dipped down and kissed him again, draping her arms lazily around his neck, and for a moment she simply enjoyed this, the heat, the way his body fit to hers, how... _Right_ this felt. With him. She had never thought she would be comfortable with this sort of vulnerability again, let alone hunger for it.

Wit slid a hand between her thighs again, tracing slowly along, questioning, until she took it and dragged it higher, giving him what he wanted. 

Deft fingers stroked her gently and he closed his eyes. He leaned in, breath hot against her neck, teasing just a little as if he could not help himself, “So wet,” he breathed against her ear, dragging the lobe between his teeth until she shivered, “So wet for me, Jasnah.”

The way he said her name made her tremble. She had heard ardents utter the name of their Almighty with less reverence than he had imbued those syllables with. 

She ground her hips against him in answer, feeling his hands settle on her hips, holding her to him, “I want you inside me,” she whispered, knowing what the simple phrase would do to him. 

He did not disappoint as he moaned for her. 

“Well I’ve no objection to that,” he whispered, stroking her hair away from her face with such tenderness, drinking in every detail he found there, “If that’s what you desire, my-” 

He broke off and groaned, eyes closing lazily, as she sank down onto him. Rocking her hips she settled on him, feeling him twitch beneath her with need, but she pushed him down, taking the moment with both of them breathing hard, holding one another, savouring this feeling. 

“You fiend,” he hissed, with fondness, stroking her hair behind her ear so he could watch her face. She smiled at him.

As one, they pressed in close, embracing one another, their faces buried against each other’s necks, clinging tightly. It was as though Odium had won, Roshar devastated, and they the last two left, holding one another as everything else faded away around them. 

All of her senses seemed heightened. The heat of his skin felt like the kiss of a flame’s tongue. The fit of him inside her a connection that reached to her very soul. The beat of her heart the pounding rhythm of the drums of war. 

Her emotions responded likewise, flooding her with feeling to the point that it almost overwhelmed her. The responsiveness of her heart to Wit’s surprised her, a keener fondness and companionship in this moment than she’d yet felt. The last vestiges of her mask seemed to have crumbled to ash in the face of the fires of her own mortality. 

All that mattered now was him, and her, and them, together. 

She drew back from the suspended moment they had crafted and gazed down at Wit, fingers gently stroking his cheek, a soft smile on her lips. 

He swallowed as she trailed her fingers up to settle in his hair, thoroughly messed already, his breathing shallower than usual, his eyes consumed entirely by her. 

“Please, love,” he murmured thickly, trembling with restraint beneath her as she teased him with a gentle rock of her hips. 

She nodded to him, and watched his face transform with pleasure and awe. She moved against him, delicious friction sparking through her, as she drew out the motions in long, slow, exaggerated rolls. 

His hand reached out and tenderly cupped her cheek, thumb gently mapping the line of her jaw, as if he were a sculptor, and she the finest thing that mortal hands had ever wrought. 

He was panting already for her, but fell easily into rhythm, allowing her to set their pace, urgent, but not yet desperate. 

His eyes found hers, and she held his gaze, burning with the same intensity she felt. Then she shifted, the changed angle making pleasure thrum through her like a released bowstring, and she closed her eyes, biting her lip. 

Blindly, she reached out and took his hands, guiding them to her hips. She wanted to feel him hold her, wanted, for all that she knew it was impossible, every part of her body to be connected to some part of his. 

Jasnah arched forwards, resting her forehead against his, allowing herself a moment of intimacy in the frantic rush of heat and sweat. He gave it to her, reaching up and pressing a tender kiss to her lips. 

She braced her hands against his shoulders, increasing their pace a little, gasping softly as his hand slid between them to coax further pleasure from her. She closed her eyes, and let herself drown in this moment, this _feeling_ , sharing it with him. 

Soft sounds of pleasure welled in the back of her throat and she made no effort to stop them, as she once might have. She wanted this. She wanted this feeling, this pleasure, this heart-pounding race to feel alive with him. And she wanted him to know it. 

She forced herself to open her eyes, wanting to see him, and found him gazing up at her, transfixed by this moment swelling between them. 

Unsaid things passed between them in the heavy breaths and faint moans. Things that neither felt ready to admit to. Not yet. Not like this. But they lingered between them, pressing them together, causing her to close her eyes and lean against him, wishing to live in this moment as long as it would allow.

She deliberately avoided drawing in Stormlight, wanting to savour the breathlessness, the racing of her heart, the trembling of her body. Those things told her she was human. They confirmed for her that she was still here, still alive. Irrefutable evidence. Precisely what she’d needed.

As she increased their pace again, Wit let out a soft curse in a language she didn’t recognise, head falling forwards onto her shoulder, lips mouthing in soundless pleasure against her neck. 

Jasnah rocked against him, pleasure building swiftly inside her now, and he groaned, fingers flexing into her skin, “I’m not going to last, Jasnah,” he murmured, words thick, eyes shadowed as he looked up at her, seeming almost regretful. But this was what she had wanted from him tonight. No games. No holding back. Just them. 

She shook her head, whimpering, nestling in close, “Just wait for me,” she breathed to him.

He nodded, capturing her lips in a brief, messy kiss, “You don’t have to ask, love,” he whispered back, his lips moving against hers in a shadow of a kiss as he said it. 

She closed her eyes, focusing on the feeling of him inside her, around her. It was so _much_ , yet somehow not enough all at once, and all she could do was continue moving with him as they chased their release. 

Wit was gasping her name with each thrust, his eyes closed now, his need as sharp as her own. “Jasnah,” he moaned, as her nails raked down his back in pulling him closer, “Jasnah, Jasnah, _Jasnah_.” 

The pleasure in her was building, and she wanted it, needed it, chased it like a woman sunk deep in the ocean chased the surface and that sweet, desperate breath of life that would come from breaching the waves. 

_Please, please, please, please_ she thought, eyes pressed tight shut, head tipping forwards, curling in on him, gripping his shoulders so hard that, if she’d been holding Stormlight, she’d have drawn blood. 

“I’m close, Wit,” she murmured, words thick with need, and he nodded, groaning softly with relief. 

He usually had better self-control than this, they both did. But she understood the stripping of those usual chains, the vulnerability they both felt in this raw moment together, the base _need_ to have more, closer, faster, harder, _now_. 

She was trembling and pulled him to her, kissing him as she felt herself starting to break. 

“ _Jasnah_ ,” he moaned, as he felt her starting to clench around him. "Yes, yes, _please_ ," he groaned, hands on her hips, pulling her down onto him, guiding her motions as her rhythm faltered. 

“With me,” she murmured to him as she felt her muscles tighten in anticipation of her pleasure. “ _Now_ , Wit,” she said, half command, half plea. 

He just moaned her name, eyes closed, burying his face against her neck and sucking on that spot she liked as they came together, gasping in unison, clinging to one another through their pleasure. 

It was intense, this time, a bright burst of _feeling_ , like lightning blazing through the sky during a highstorm. All at once it felt as though he’d soulcast her into a being of pleasure of intensity, mingling with him. She had never felt this good, this _connected_ to someone else during sex before. 

They moved through it together, until she arched, her body going still at the height of her pleasure. When Jasnah collapsed down on top of Wit, shaking and panting, he folded her into his arms, gathering her to him. 

It had been a long time since she had felt this breathless, sweat coating her skin in a fine sheen. She drew in a little Stormlight to steady herself, and felt Wit do the same, the light streaming to both of them and rising from their skin. 

She smiled, face still buried against his neck, and shifted slightly as she felt him soulcast to clean them, so they wouldn’t have to move. It was a strange sensation, but better than having him leave her in this moment. 

Wit adjusted his position slightly below her, both hands wrapping around her and holding her against him, one trailing lazily up and down her spine in that way he knew she liked. 

“That was...Rather intense,” Wit commented, finally, with the air of one remarking on a particularly good novel. 

“It’s been a rather intense day,” she mumbled into his neck, not bothering to move to stop her voice muffling against him, “So that feels appropriate.” 

Wit laughed softly, though it sounded hollow to her this time. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and lingered there, holding her tightly, more so than usual, more so than was strictly necessary in this moment. 

He flicked his hand again, and she felt a thick, soft blanket soulcast from the air around them, settle in around her, just when she’d been starting to feel the cold. 

“That was a little frivolous, wouldn’t you say?” she said, arching an eyebrow at him. 

“What?” he said, innocently, “Using the near divine powers granted to us from slivers of the shards of creation to save me from moving in this moment is _frivolous_? What nonsense, Jasnah!” 

She just smiled, and smothered further protests, because she did not want him to move anywhere right now. 

Wit stilled beneath her, and she shifted so she could see his face, uncharacteristically grave.

“You gave me an awful fright today,” he confessed quietly, tangling his fingers through her hair, as if its strands were threads of fate he could use to bind them together without end. 

She just nodded, feeling another pang of fear, unsure what to say. It _had_ been frightening. What was the use in lying about it? Especially to him, after what they had just shared. 

She had bared herself to this man in so many ways, already. There was no turning back now. Curiously, she found she did not want to. She felt she was better for knowing him, and for him knowing her, and she felt no regret in having opened up to him as she had. 

“Please don’t do that to me again,” he told her, “At least for a few decades, so I’ve time to recover.” 

“We’re at war, Wit,” she whispered, clutching to him even as she said it, “And if we lose, this world is lost. You know I can’t promise you that.” 

“I know,” he said, closing his eyes, “You’re a good woman, Jasnah. I knew there was a reason I tried to avoid falling for you people.” 

She sat up, looking at him, cupping his face in her hand, “I know why you do,” she said, and he arched an eyebrow at her. “You’re a good person, too, Wit,” she said, and when he grimaced she frowned at him, “You _are_. Whatever you’ve done, whatever you may do, I believe that you have done it with the best of intentions.” 

“And if those intentions some day hurt you?” he murmured, and she could see the conflict in his eyes, the underlying fear, growing each day that he came to care for her that some day this could happen. 

She was not a fool. She knew how old this man was. She could guess at the things he had seen, the things that he had done, and that his goals were far larger than her, or even Roshar. 

He had confessed as much to her. There had never been a moment since they had embarked upon this relationship together where he had hidden the scope of his motivations and goals from her.

“Then I assume that you will only do it if you must. And that I will be a necessary sacrifice for the sake of something greater,” she told him, as calmly as she could

It hurt to say, even though she tried to smother it. And it brought her some comfort that he winced at hearing the words.

Yes, he had been upfront with her about his aim for this system. Yes he had shown her what he could be willing to do to achieve that. No, he had never lied to her about any of this. But that did not make it any easier to confront truths such as this.

“You will _never_ be just a necessary sacrifice to me, Jasnah Kholin,” he whispered, taking her face between both of his hands and holding her eyes. “Never. Even if I some day have to leave you. Even if I some day have to _hurt_ you, Ado forbid. It would destroy a piece of me in doing it. The piece that you have claimed, the piece that you will always have, whatever else may come. I promise you. You will always have that.” 

She smiled. It was a strange sentiment, almost too large in scope to be genuine. Yet one she was touched by and appreciated all the same, as she had the knowledge to realise that, from him, it was sincere. 

“I need you to promise me something,” she said, growing cold at the thought that came upon her, unbidden. 

He raised an eyebrow at her, “Is it to do that thing with my tongue again? Jasnah, you don’t need to extract a promise from me to ensure that-” 

She gave him a flat look and he sobered, “I apologise,” he said, gently kissing her forehead, “If I’m too serious for too long I’ll die. I made a contract that stipulates that as a clause _years_ ago, and I’ve never broken it yet.” 

“ _Wit_ ,” she growled, though the corners of her mouth twitched traitorously all the same. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender, “Please, tell me. If it is within my power, it shall be yours.” 

“If anything does happen to me,” she said, quietly, “Please look after Ivory.” 

All of Wit’s levity fled from him in an instant as the force of those words impacted him like a boulder to the head. 

He did not insult her by dismissing her fears, or trying to tell her that was not a promise he would need to give as it would never be necessary for him to fulfil. 

Instead he nodded gravely, seeming to understand exactly what she entrusted him with by asking, “I will do that for you, Jasnah,” he swore, “You have my word.” 

She nodded, and swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat, “We have been together for so long and he-” She took a deep, shaky breath, “He can be difficult. He finds it hard to share his emotions, or to communicate what those around him mean to him. We have bonded over that, as you might imagine. But...I fear that he would take my loss poorly.” 

“I will help him if I can, should that ever prove necessary, I swear it to you," Wit promised, and she felt a weight lift from her shoulders at the words. 

“Thank you,” she breathed, settling in against him once more, pillowing her head against his shoulder. 

He put his arm around her and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. He trailed the tips of his fingers up and down her spine, making her shiver pleasurably against him, nestling in close to his warmth.

After a moment, he squinted down at her with a twinkle in his eye she knew too well.

“Incidentally," he added, "Will Ivory be given the same instructions to look after me in the event of your untimely demise?” he asked, his tone lighter, deliberately so. 

She snorted. 

"Storms, no. I care for him far too much to give him anything even remotely resembling responsibility for you, Wit,” she shot back flatly. 

He laughed at that, as she'd hoped he would. He laughed easily, and often, and she did not grudge him that. In fact, she felt she could stand to learn a thing or two from him in that regard. 

After a moment, he shifted beneath her, and she actually growled involuntarily at the motion, glaring up at him. 

“Where are you going?” she demanded. 

“I was going to frivolously expend more of my divine powers governing the forces and fabric of this world to generate you a hot bath, if it would please her majesty,” he said, grinning at her reaction. 

She hummed, considering that, then she nudged him back down against the pillows, “Later,” she told him, “Stay here with me for now.” 

He smiled, stroking her hair again, “If that is what my queen wishes,” he said lightly. 

“It is,” she grunted firmly, and he smiled more broadly. 

“Then so it shall be,” he murmured, pulling her close and settling in contently with her. 

**Author's Note:**

> I swithered a LOT about posting this, not least because it can be a little fuzzy about writing smut fic for ace characters. But. Jasnah's explicitly sex favourable, and confirms in canon she's happy to have sex. And it's also. Not About The Sex. Like that should have been ABUNDANTLY CLEAR in the text but just in case: I will point it out. 
> 
> I want her to have someone she can connect with, and be vulnerable with, on multiple levels. AND DAMMIT I'M ACE AND SOMETIMES WE HAVE SEX OKAY. THAT'S A TMI FOR YOU RANDOM AO3 PEOPLE BUT YOU'VE MADE IT THIS FAR WITH ME YOU CAN HAVE THAT PERSONAL NUGGET FOR FREE OKAY I'M LEAVING NOW.
> 
> (Also yes please comment. Feed me. I hunger for your validation. Always).


End file.
